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Earth, Air, Fire, Water – the four elements of life exist in harmony.
The Jedi are taught to uphold the truth of this harmony.
Once, they travelled the universe to learn balance and justice, wisdom and compassion. Now they share this knowledge as agents of the Republic Senate.
Obi-Wan has always known this story, just as every child in the galaxy knows it. He knows his family gave him to the Jedi Order when his midichlorian count showed a marked sensitivity to the elements.
And he is secure in his future.
He remembers only pieces of his parents but he remembers entirely the first time he saw a flame and felt some innate understanding of its power flow through his veins. He remembers the feel of mud in his infant’s fist. And there is air, the very breath of life, and the cool clarity of water, and he dreams of the day when he will be a Jedi Knight, his life dedicated to harmony in the service of the elements.
So he waits.
Because the elements choose their benders, and it does not happen at birth.
The initiates are taught how to respect the four elements, and how they support each other. They are taught how to free their minds and emotions to be better conduits for the will of the elements. Then they are taught how to hone their bodies to act.
They are taught other things as well – history, philosophy, science and logistics. They are taught morals and humility.
And they are told to be patient.
Obi-Wan is not a patient child at heart but he knows that the element must choose.
He thinks nothing of it as his classmates have their revelations before him. After all, he is only eight, and his natural curiosity in the workings of the galaxy mean that there is plenty he wants to discover before he is claimed by any one element.
Bant receives her revelation on his tenth birthday.
She is a good friend, so even in her excitement and wonder, she notices the sudden gleam of fear in his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” she comforts, “It’ll happen for you any day now, Obi-Wan. There are plenty of others who are still waiting.”
She is a good friend, but there are only six left unchosen, and of those six, he is the oldest. Perhaps by a few standard Coruscant months but still. Bant is two years younger than he is.
He tries so hard over the next few weeks, grasping desperately for any connection to any element, no matter how dim or fleeting.
“Patience, Padawan,” Yoda instructs him, “Cloud your mind, fear does. Your heart, it will divide. No room left for harmony.”
Obi-Wan tries to do as instructed.
That Yoda is right, he does not doubt. What he doubts is his own ability, and in his heart of hearts, his own worthiness.
All he has ever wanted to be is a Jedi Knight.
But he is not alone in that respect.
Most initiates want the same. For different reasons and with different instincts, but the same dream.
“Unique opportunity, you have,” Yoda tells him, “Learn to confront all elements, you can.”
He does.
The katas and forms are effective fighting techniques even without an element to draw on. And he learns slowly how to defend against those who have the added advantage.
Like most initiates, he assumes the ability to bend makes any battle against him a foregone conclusion of his defeat. His training Master tells him that this is not the case.
“In the early days of our Order,” Master Vant tells him, “There were many Jedi with no bending abilities. Masters who could sense the harmony but not use it. Their skills and wisdom were no less because of it. The Galaxy has a place for all.”
He believes this. And he does win a few sparring matches; enough to give him heart and hope.
But in his heart, it feels as though he is fighting in restraints. As though he is missing the weapon that suits him best.
And whatever else he is, he is stubborn. He will not allow himself to abandon his dreams of knighthood.
Then Bruck Chun gets his element.
Earth.
Hard as rock and treacherous as quicksand – Obi-Wan knows better than to give Bruck any chance to catch him alone in the sprawling warren of corridors used by the Initiates in the Jedi Temple.
Few knights and masters come to these lower levels, and the droids are programed to observe more often than act. Which is how it should be in a perfect world, where those who have wisdom support each other.
This is not always the case in practice.
Bruck Chun believes in the harmony of elements too, and dreams of being a Jedi Knight, but he also believes in power, and he believes in the elitism of the chosen.
As an initiate facing his eleventh year without an element, Obi-Wan is a figure of scorn to Bruck.
Even so, he supposes he should be grateful.
Bruck does catch him alone in one of the corridors, and he is forced into a fight that he knows he cannot win. But he is also provoked into anger.
And since Bruck has him pinned to the floor, earth shackling his ankles so that he cannot run from the laughter and the venom, something in him snaps and reaches for the spilled water from his broken flask.
Bruck splutters when slapped in the face by the ribbon of liquid, and then yelps as it hits him again.
Obi-Wan stumbles to his feet and holds himself ready to continue the fight, revelation suddenly singing through every cell of his body.
It’s like being plugged into a generator, he thinks, or like discovering colour in a world of black and white.
He is humbled to be so genuinely congratulated by his friends and teachers. And ecstatic to find that water chooses him.
“The element of change and adaptability. But be warned, it is the element of emotion. Water can sweep you away, flood your mind and drown your reason. You must be vigilant.”
He nods and bows, but even the warning is not important when he can take his place amongst the other waterbenders in his class. Bant hugs him, and for the first time in a long time, he feels as though his world is put right.
This is not a feeling that lasts.
Coming late to his element has consequences.
Initiates are not only chosen by their elements, they are chosen by their teachers.
Harmony is a complex weave of justice and balance, and this cannot be learned in a group or a classroom. The lesson must be tailored to the individual, and a Master must offer wisdom to an Initiate judged worthy.
Many Initiates have already found Masters but Obi-Wan was chosen so late.
It is not so rare, however, and at first he decides that it will only be a matter of time. As his choosing was.
He is still impatient, though, and soon he realises the truth of the warning – fear and worry cloud his judgement. Emotion divides his focus.
He struggles to find his equilibrium, and fights and studies to prove his worthiness, but the Masters who deign to walk through the Initiates’ sprawling warren of corridors do not offer him a space beside them on their way back out.
Yoda has no advice for this.
Eleven grows into twelve, and he knows his training masters are beginning to concern themselves on his behalf.
For there is another story that he knows but has never considered – that human initiates must be chosen by thirteen.
Older than that, and he will grow up too quickly. His mind will not be as open, his nature not as a malleable. His ability to learn is strongest now, while he is young, and as the years pass it will weaken.
The number of exhibition matches he is given are doubled. He is summoned to public events at all hours outside of his scheduled training. Opportunities and chances are lined up end to end until all he can do is fall into bed each night, exhausted and panicked and filled with self-doubt.
As the days on Coruscant cycle through light and dark, night and dawn, four of the six who were late to be chosen find their masters.
He and Bruck are the only ones left.
And he sees his fears reflected in Bruck Chun’s eyes.
“Water is weak,” Bruck scoffs, “Sly and slipping. No one ever wants a waterbender, Oafy-Wan.”
The old insult stings.
“Master Ki-Adi-Mundi is a waterbender,” Obi-Wan replies.
“And Master Windu beat him in a practice match just yesterday.”
“Master Windu is one of the most powerful firebenders in the history of the order,” he retorts, “He beats earthbenders too.”
“Master Tahl could take Windu,” Bruck says smugly, “Too bad she didn’t pick you before she left the Temple.”
Master Tahl is an earthbender, and he is an waterbender, and this too would not be new.
He cannot blame his unworthiness on a Jedi rule about the bending abilities of the Master offering apprenticeship. He isn’t left behind because there are no waterbending masters.
There are plenty.
Waterbenders and earthbenders make up more than fifty percent of all the elemental chosen in the Jedi ranks. Fire benders are a sizable group. It’s only the airbenders who are rarer; more unique and individual than any of their colleagues.
Master Yoda is an airbender.
And then he is told that one of the greatest waterbenders in the order is to arrive in the Temple, looking for an apprentice.
Qui-Gon Jinn does not spend much time on Coruscant but his name is littered through training notes and instructor’s tales. He works in the old tradition of travelling the universe to foster harmony, to right wrongs and bring balance to planets that face discordance and unrest. Either as a diplomat or Senate-sanctioned warrior.
He is who Obi-Wan dreams of being.
And Obi-Wan’s time is almost up.
“Fight for him, you will,” Yoda says firmly.
And Obi-Wan does.
He pours all he has into his fight against Bruck.
They are the last two left and he will not let himself consider the chance that Master Jinn might choose Bruck.
Bruck is bigger and stronger, a size to match Qui-Gon Jinn’s towering figure. But Bruck’s ability in the elements is also cruder than Obi-Wan’s. He is prone to depending on strength rather than tactical nuances.
Obi-Wan wins the bout decisively.
And he has hope.
When the match is over, Qui-Gon approaches him in the changing rooms, and Obi-Wan does not realise he is already reaching out eagerly on a mental level, anxious to find the connection he will no doubt need with the Master who will train him.
But Qui-Gon approaches only to offer him advice on his footwork, and to warn him that the element of water is the element of emotion.
“Control yours,” Qui-Gon tells him, and turns away.
Obi-Wan stops him. “Do you know what will happen if you don’t take me as your apprentice,” he says, and tries to keep his voice steady, “I will be too old to train in knighthood. I’ll be forced to one of the other branches.”
“There is no shame in the other branches,” Qui-Gon says, and there is no compassion on his face, no gentleness in his voice, “I will not train you. You must find your path without me.”
Obi-Wan receives his news after the match – he will be sent to the Agri-Corp outpost on Bandomeer.
Bruck has six extra months on Coruscant to escape a similar fate.
Six months tastes like benediction in Obi-Wan’s mouth, and as he does not have them, his hope withers.
Water exists in all things, flows through all stages of life, and it carries the microscopic imprint of everything within its molecules. Water remembers.
And he is a waterbender.
His transport to Bandomeer is a Corellian rust bucket, and within the time it takes him to lose his way in the unfamiliar corridors, he gets into a fight with a party of Offworld miners and gets strangled by a Hutt.
With his body rebelling against the chokehold around his neck, he cannot focus enough to access his precious element. All he can see are the white spots dancing before his eyes, and all he can hear is a roaring in his ears.
The sound grows louder than he can bear and he eventually passes out.
When he wakes, he is certain he is dreaming.
Qui-Gon Jinn’s hands are enormous on his forehead and shoulder, then cool and soothing as they channel healing through water to the sore points on his throat.
But his blue eyes are still ice and Obi-Wan realises for the first time that water can be as hard as stone as the man who was his last hope shares space with him and dismisses him all in the same breath.
Master Jinn heals his damaged throat and his fever, but sees him as nothing more than an obstruction to his mission.
At first, Obi-Wan simply assumes that this is because Master Jinn doubts his courage and willingness. Doubts his skills. All he has shown the man, after all, has been his ability to spar in a training ring.
He enlists Sri Treemba’s help with proving his usefulness and they succeed, for a given value of the word ‘success’.
Sri Treemba is tortured, Obi-Wan almost starts a war between Offworld and Arcona Mineral, and in the end their ship is boarded by Togorian pirates who want to kill them all.
Qui-Gon accepts his help in flying them to safety while he holds off the pirates but is less than impressed with his attempts to meddle. Still, the man can hardly argue with the results, especially when he himself is injured by blaster fire.
Obi-Wan has always known that fieldwork is dangerous. That the reason Jedi Knights still travel the galaxy is because there are so many who seek to destroy peace and harmony through power and corruption, selfishness and greed. It’s still sobering to see Qui-Gon Jinn look pale and drawn, his arm clearly stiff with hurt in a hastily constructed sling.
Obi-Wan wants to help but he cannot heal through water yet – assuming he will ever achieve such mastery – and Qui-Gon flatly commands him to stay away from the side of the ship where the Offworlders reside.
He can only do what he believes to be right, however. Through the series of events that end in him taking a stance in front of a cave to protecting defenceless Arconans against draigons, he finally begins to win respect. Not only in Qui-Gon’s eyes but in his own.
He has found himself worthy, and this is all he needs to give himself fully to the flow of his element.
Water is all around, in the sea and in the air, and he channels the force of its thunderous power to drive the creatures away from the caves, his focus so pure that he sees his actions in perfect clarity.
When Qui-Gon joins him, he feels the mental touch of a Master waterbender bolstering his faltering energy as he falls into step beside him.
Obi-Wan has put up a good fight, but Qui-Gon Jinn is a study in finesse.
He is a large man but he flows from one form to another like a river, the water twisting and flexing and surging around him in so many strands of defence and offence that Obi-Wan can’t often tell one ribbon from another even while he moves in tandem.
But the destination is not yet reached, and Qui-Gon’s respect does not equate to Qui-Gon’s acceptance.
Obi-Wan begins to understand that acceptance can come slowly for a man who has had his ability to trust damaged.
The name ‘Xanatos’ puts fear into Qui-Gon’s eyes which shocks Obi-Wan more than the blaster injury did.
He reads between the lines to hear what Qui-Gon does not tell him – that the betrayal was not about Xanatos’ desire for power, or the need for his father’s approval, but for the way Xanatos exploited Qui-Gon’s blind affection to accomplish his plans.
In many ways, Xanatos does the same on Bandomeer. Qui-Gon’s distrust is clear, his hurt obvious, and Xanatos manipulates his former master’s emotions in a way that leaves Obi-Wan breathless.
But he is also helpless.
He is still an obstacle to the mission, still unnecessary to the investigate, and still destined for the Agri-Corp on Bandomeer.
There is some truth to what he has been told – there will be no shame in working for the Agri-Corp on this planet.
His sensitivity to his element feels muddied and dirtied, and the taste at the back of his mouth is acrid with chemicals. To reclaim the devastated land of Bandomeer for clean water and greenery would be a quiet life of satisfaction for any waterbender.
But this is not Obi-Wan’s dream, and his element does not speak to him of the slow growth of life but to rushing torrents and natural springs – inevitability and rightness.
Once again he ends up with Qui-Gon’s enormous hands reaching for his throat, and once again, there is no smile on Qui-Gon’s face.
But this time, Qui-Gon overloads an inhibitor collar as though it is nothing and rips it away, and while he does not smile, he offers an apprenticeship to Obi-Wan with eyes that are no longer ice.
Obi-Wan is almost too afraid to reach out mentally, and it is only when Qui-Gon does it for him, firmly and protectively, that Obi-Wan relaxes into the joyful exultation that, against all the odds, his dream has come true.
“In many stories,” Qui-Gon tells him on the ship to Gala, “You will hear words that signal the end of the telling. The first thing you will learn with water is that there is no end. Fire and Air can be or not be. They exist in their absences. But Water and Earth are different. We can be many things, and exist in many states. We do not end but only adapt to change.”
“Water can be ice and snow, water can be steam and smoke,” Obi-Wan recites.
“Precisely,” Qui-Gon says, “So learn this lesson well – there is no ending. Happy, sad, or indifferent, nothing ends. We all flow from one state to the next.”
He learns it well.
The mission on Bandomeer may be the first for him, but it is not the first for Qui-Gon. He knows too well that he is not the first Padawan Qui-Gon has ever taken. Qui-Gon’s life in training flows from Dooku to Feemor, to Xanatos and now him.
And water remembers.
He is to bear the weight of all the memories that Qui-Gon carries into their relationship.
Just as, he supposes, his own life flows from the gentle crechemasters to Master Docent Vant to Yoda to Qui-Gon.
Yoda is not given to games but he teaches his young Initiates in a mixture of wry humour and stern wisdom.
Qui-Gon seems forbidding by comparison, and far more difficult to please.
Obi-Wan is the right height for his age but he is only thirteen, and he is slender. He supposes he will grow as he ages but for now he is overshadowed completely by Qui-Gon, both literally and metaphorically.
He demonstrates his training under his new Master’s austere eye and finds himself failing each set in dismal fashion.
Basic katas he had always thought himself good at are no longer accepted with a nod of encouragement. Instead he is stopped more often than not, his stance adjusted and limbs rearranged. Not always to his comfort.
And it is not reassuring to see Offworld equipment dismantled on Bandomeer, or to see the hope in VeerTa’s eyes. It is no consolation to imagine Bruck Chun’s face when he returns to the Temple at Qui-Gon’s side. Not when he falls at hurdles he should be taking in stride.
His old concerns about his worthiness raise their ugly heads.
He knows that Qui-Gon frowns when he falls, and feels a troubled note in their connection though his Master keeps his mental shields high and solid at all times.
He has hope, however, and he holds to what he felt when they fought the draigons together. He holds to the way it had felt to feel such unstoppable power surge like the ocean tides in his hands, and beside him.
He believes this is why Qui-Gon gives him the river stone for his birthday.
He cradles it in his hand, and thinks of how water has done this – shaped and polished it – and he places it in an inner pocket as close to his skin as he can put it, finding significance in it as he does.
Jedi have no family beyond their commitments to the Order. Their home world is the Temple, their ancestors are the knights who came before them. Obi-Wan has vague memories of his parents and his brother from his only visit to see them before he became an Initiate aged eight, but he doesn’t think of them often. He doesn’t miss them.
Yet Qui-Gon gives him a river stone from his own home world. A stone he himself takes from an inner pocket, still warm with his life force.
Obi-Wan holds it like a talisman as he waits to be mind-wiped on Phindar, mute with terror and resignation.
In all the great stories, there have been daring escapes and last minute reprieves. There is none on Phindar.
But he clutches the stone until his knuckles turn white and he focuses.
Because water remembers.
The pain of the electro-shock is worse than the fear that comes before it but he survives. Phindar survives. His friends survive.
Qui-Gon rests a heavy hand on his shoulder before they board yet another ship for Gala, finally on route to their officially assigned mission.
Obi-Wan is relieved that he has survived but he doubts their hosts will be as welcoming as Qui-Gon believes they will be.
He is only partially right. The Queen has no knowledge of her son’s meddling in Phindar, nor of Obi-Wan’s manhandling of Prince Beju in his quest to expose the Syndicate. She seems too sick to care for anything other than the elections.
He expects that Qui-Gon will offer healing, as any high level master waterbender with healing abilities would do.
Qui-Gon chooses instead to leave the Queen to her wasting illness, and to abandon their mission in favour of ghosts in the hills.
“Sometimes the rules get in the way,” Qui-Gon tells him, and Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to think.
He does not understand it, and Qui-Gon does not explain it – he orders. And Obi-Wan knows he must obey because the rules say that a Padawan cannot refuse an order. A Padawan must obey his Master. A Padawan must, at all times, be obedient.
He is that, at least.
He knows he is.
In the Temple, he worked hard. In this strange new world of danger, he works even harder.
But he is confused.
And perhaps this is why he falls in a more devastating way.
Cerasi and Nield are like no one he has ever known. The bond he feels with them is so strong that he begins to emerge, blinking, from Qui-Gon’s shadow. To say ‘I want’ and ‘I think’ instead of ‘yes, Master’.
The city of Zehara on Melida/ Daan is no Eden, and a war is not conducive to meditation. Yet the chatter of children playing at soldiers in an abandoned crypt sings in his veins with some sort of harmony. Some kind of balance.
He feels worthy in this company, and useful. He feels wanted.
His disconnect with Qui-Gon is so severe that he breaks their bond in an attack stance. He rejects the Order, is prepared to risk Tahl’s life, and faces his Master prepared to fight.
And he watches while Qui-Gon does the same.
Here, there is no shared power. Only a sort of broken hurt in Qui-Gon’s eyes that he understands but cannot help. He never could help.
Qui-Gon leaves him to his fate, and he helps to win a war in the face of all reason and logic. But he pays for it.
There is balance in the four elements, and he believes in that balance even when he is no longer Jedi. Even when he can no longer access the training he will need to fully master his element.
But he struggles to find balance in Cerasi’s death.
All of them do.
The peace they’ve fought for so hard stands on a precipice and all Nield will do is blame him.
“Why didn’t you save her,” Nield asks, and, “You should have been faster. You should have seen something, or healed her. You’re Jedi.”
He isn’t. Not anymore.
But he knows others who are.
Yoda agrees to hear his plea, and Qui-Gon comes back when he asks. This has most to do with their commitment to peace in the galaxy but it is more than Obi-Wan deserves.
He still has the river stone. He hasn’t given it back, and his former master doesn’t seem to even remember that he has it. He can only assume it was never as important as he thought it was.
The fact that the Order allows him to return to the Temple does not mean he can return to the life he left behind.
The Jedi Council sees this far more clearly than he does.
They are not impressed that he has helped to win a war, nor do they care about the experience he has gained. They cannot welcome him back unreservedly since he betrayed his commitment to them. They have no reason to believe he will not do it again.
He returns on his own to the training grounds, moving slowly through his basic forms again. The corrections Qui-Gon had started to enforce on him are still uncomfortable. Attempting to speed his movements still unbalances him.
Across the grounds, Bruck Chun spars with a younger earthbender, his movements fluid and his focus calm.
Obi-Wan can only pick himself up and try again. And fall again.
And nothing feels right.
He has no official classes while his fate is decided. His room feels as though it belongs to someone else. The warren of corridors in the Initiates’ sector of the Temple is too quiet.
He catches sight of Yoda once, leaning on his staff beside the training court as he fails to achieve perfection.
“Fight,” Yoda had told him, and Obi-Wan had but it had not been enough for either of them.
Bant tries to cheer him up with a trip to the lake.
It helps, but it cannot accomplish the impossible. His life has fallen out of rhythm. He meditates when he can but balance remains an illusion.
Many things are.
Bruck Chun dies because his newfound serenity is an illusion. Because he chooses power and strength over harmony.
Obi-Wan is tired of death. He hasn’t reached his fourteenth year and he is tired of watching people die.
But he believes in harmony, and Qui-Gon lays a heavy hand on his shoulder as the Temple allows him to return on probation.
“Will you take me back?” he asks.
And Qui-Gon cannot give him guarantees.
But they are both waterbenders, and whether it is the will of their element or the vagaries of a coincidence that neither of them believe in, their paths cleave together.
They choose to go forward but it is patently obvious that they are both still haunted by the past.
He wakes up at night gasping for air, frightened and panicked, and it is only when Qui-Gon appears in the doorway to his room that Obi-Wan realises he has been telegraphing his distress clear across the small apartment he now shares with his Master.
He has, in fact, lost so much control over his centre that he has reached out and battered at his Master’s mental shields.
He is angry with himself. More than that, he is humiliated. He has fought for his place in this life – with this man on this path – and he will not show weakness now that he has achieved his victory.
“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon sighs, not unkindly, “What did I tell you about endings?”
“There are no endings,” he recites dully, “Everything flows from one state to the next.”
“Yes,” Qui-Gon says, “Which means what?”
He looks up in confusion.
His Master has clearly risen from his own bed. His eyelids are heavy with interrupted sleep, hair loose and rumpled, robe open to his bare chest as though he only paused long enough to pull it onto his shoulders. Somehow, in the night, Qui-Gon Jinn seems more slender than powerful. Almost vulnerable.
“I…” Obi-Wan starts uncertainly, “It means that nothing is permanent.”
The expression on Qui-Gon’s face is hard to read. He cannot tell if he has given the man the answer he is looking for.
Unexpectedly, Qui-Gon sits down on the side of his bed, and then pulls his long legs up to cross them under him.
He perches there in the small space like a strange apparition and Obi-Wan thinks wildly that this is still part of a dream.
A dignified Jedi Knight does not behave in such a casual fashion.
Water is pulled from the glass on the table beside his bed with a sweep of long fingers. Long, but blunt and inelegant, and yet capable of such a delicate control over the element they both share.
Qui-Gon swirls the water into a small ball of liquid overhead and it circles there lazily.
“I have travelled to many worlds,” he says, voice low as he watches the water spin, “I have seen unrest and disquiet, even war. And one thing I have learned is that victories are misleading. They do not spell an end, nor a beginning, but simply a completed scene in an ongoing play. You had faith that you would find a way to continue your training and you succeeded, but that in itself is not the goal you seek, Padawan. You know this.”
“I… I do. Master, I do. But I fail everything. I thought I could do it but I fall all the time and I learn nothing! I know you’re disappointed, and I saw Master Yoda watching and…”
The ball of water glistens in the dim light.
“And how do you know I am disappointed?”
“I can see it in your face, Master,” Obi-Wan says bitterly.
“Have you asked me how I feel?”
“You block the connection from me.”
“Once again, have you asked why?”
“Why must I ask!” Obi-Wan bursts out, “Why can’t you tell me? How long do I have to keep falling and failing before you tell me that you made a mistake taking me back.”
“Because I didn’t,” Qui-Gon says bluntly. “Which I can tell you now that you have asked me.”
Obi-Wan is not placated. He is still angry and ashamed, but the words soothe a tiny corner of his heart and he presses them down further so that he can treasure them.
“I will teach you what I know of water, but you must learn,” Qui-Gon says.
His voice is soft but his tone is fierce.
“And you will start from the very beginning. Earth and Fire need stability, your centre of gravity focused low. Water and Air need fluidity. You must be flexible and adaptable. Lead feet will not help you with that. That is why you fall.”
“Oh.”
Obi-Wan thinks about that.
“I will try it again tomorrow,” he says.
Qui-Gon looks at him and his expression is strange. Unreadable.
And then Obi-Wan feels it – the creeping trickle of some emotion he cannot quite understand. It isn’t his.
It feels like bitterness and sadness.
His Master’s shields go up again as soon as he shows that he has noticed it.
“That is why I block the connection,” Qui-Gon says. And then the corners of his lips quirk into an unexpected smile. “But I too will try it again tomorrow, Padawan.”
Obi-Wan flushes, and something in his belly unravels slowly.
“Put out your hands,” Qui-Gon instructs.
Obi-Wan puts his hands out obediently, palm up.
Qui-Gon gently, carefully, moves his own hands until they lie just under his apprentice’s. Until the ball of water is hovering over both.
“I want you to take this,” Qui-Gon says, “And I want you to trust that I will not let it fall. If you cannot control it, if you get tired – I will be here to catch it. Do you understand?”
He nods.
They spend quite some time on the bed, simply holding aloft a small ball of liquid.
He does not realise until the morning that his Master was not reassuring him about the water.